


Touched by Eternity

by still_lycoris



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Gen, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-05 00:50:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12179664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/still_lycoris/pseuds/still_lycoris
Summary: When Hank met Charles Xavier, he thought he was just an eccentric. It turns out he and his sister are a lot more than that ...





	Touched by Eternity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Unforgotten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforgotten/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Eternal](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10579743) by [Unforgotten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforgotten/pseuds/Unforgotten). 



Hank shouldn’t have been in the garden in the first place.

He had just been trying to find somewhere quiet to work, that was all. Somewhere well away from, well, everybody. And it hadn’t exactly seemed _wrong_ to be in the garden, not when it was so overgrown and quiet and nobody lived in the house anyway. He wasn’t doing any harm, just coming in by the rotted side gate and sitting quietly by the old fountain to read his books and work on his experiments and designs, while letting his feet breathe. He never touched anything or did anything bad.

It was still trespassing, he knew that. But it was surprisingly easy to push away the guilt when he reminded himself that nobody lived in the old house – and nobody liked to go anywhere near it either. People seemed to find it very frightening, there were strange rumours about it apparently – but Hank didn’t really care. Stories were stories. He preferred his science.

He’d been working hard that day and the sun had been warm. He could only think that was why he suddenly became so sleepy. Sleepy enough to want to move into the shade and lie down, just for a few minutes ...

Only he’d fallen asleep for hours. When he’d woken up, the sun had set and there was a man sitting on the fountain, looking through his papers.

“Oh!”

Hank’s first reaction was not for his writing but to grab frantically for his shoes. He never let anybody see his feet, not since he was twelve and they’d become the horrifying monstrosities they were now. That mattered more than the man who had caught him breaking the law and was reading all of his private things.

“Oh, please don’t be frightened,” the man said. He had a nice voice, a kind one and he smiled at Hank like everything was all right. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have ... but I just wanted to look at what you were working on, that’s all. Hearing you here so often, it was ... intriguing.”

Hank didn’t quite understand all of this. He crouched uncertainly, trying to keep his feet beneath him, wondering where this man had come from. The man’s smile faded into a look of guilt.

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t ... I just ... it’s been a long time since I saw ... and you ... these are so clever. I’m sorry.”

“N-no,” Hank blurted. “I mean ... y-you don’t have to be sorry. It’s my fault, I ... I mean ... um, could you pass me my shoes please?”

“Of course,” the man said. “But you don’t have to hide them you know. They’re quite wonderful.”

“W-wonderful?”

He’d never imagined that anyone would ever say something like that. This man had to be mad, of course ... but it was so nice to hear, even so. He didn’t look like he was lying either, even in the dark, the expression was sincere.

“Of course they are,” the man said. “I bet you’re a magnificent climber. Can you run with them too?”

“I ... haven’t really tried.”

“Oh, but you must! You really must, there’s nothing to be ashamed of, believe me.”

Hank moved a little closer to him, not trying to hide now. It felt good, having his feet on the grass. He’d never really thought about how fast he might be able to run. He wasn’t a runner – at least, only when he’d been running away from people and he’d always been in his painful shoes then ...

“Who are you?” he asked because he felt like he really, really needed the answer to that.

The man smiled.

“My name is Charles,” he said. “Your name is Hank, isn’t it?”

“H-how did you ...?”

“It’s on your notes,” Charles said and Hank found himself laughing, although he wasn’t quite sure why. Maybe it was the shock of it all or the strangeness or the fact that Charles had been so nice about his feet but ... he just hadn’t expected it.

Charles didn’t seem to mind his laughing either. In fact, he just smiled at Hank easily, then offered him back his notes.

“They’re fascinating,” he said. “I see you’re a bit of a science genius.”

“Well ... a little bit,” Hank said, trying to sound modest. 

“Things have moved on since I read anything,” Charles said. “Would you ... tell me a little about some of this? I’m so interested and I feel very behind.”

It was rare that anybody ever wanted Hank to tell them anything about his ideas. Eagerly, he sat next to Charles, forgetting that it was late and dark and that he had no idea where Charles had actually come from. He just wanted to talk for once.

Charles was a good listener. He seemed to understand the principles of what Hank was saying at least, although sometimes, he seemed oddly behind the times. It was weird but Hank didn’t really question it. The conversation was too satisfying. He liked explaining things to Charles and Charles seemed to like to hear them. He would have stayed for longer, except that he began to feel tired and cold.

“I’m sorry,” Charles said softly. “It’s really late, I didn’t think. Perhaps we could meet up again?”

“I’d like that!” Hank said eagerly. “There’s this nice café – ”

“No,” Charles interrupted quickly. “I don’t like ... I’d rather keep meeting you here. Is that all right?”

“If you like. Only ... we are trespassing, I guess ... ”

“We’re not, actually,” Charles said. “I own it.”

“I didn’t know anybody owned this old place!”

“Well, I do,” Charles said, as though it was quite normal to own old, supposedly-haunted mansions. “Will you meet me again? Tomorrow evening? Maybe you could bring some more of your notes ...?”

Hank was only too happy to agree. Yes, it seemed a _little_ strange ... but Charles was clearly a little strange. And people had always said Hank was a little strange so really, it made sense that he’d want to make friends with someone a little strange.

Right?

*

Charles really _was_ quite strange though.

For a start, he smelt strange. Not exactly unpleasant (although Hank rarely found strong smells unpleasant. He had a feeling it was something connected with whatever made him such a freak) But sort of musty, as though he was surrounded by heavy dust and darkness. Perhaps it was just the slightly old looking clothes that he wore – Hank wasn’t sure if they were out of fashion or not but they seemed odd, even to him. Or perhaps it was because he apparently lived in an old haunted mansion – Hank had seen him coming out of it more than once. He half-meant to ask Charles about it but it seemed awkward so he never did.

Besides, all those things aside, Charles was good company. He was clearly fascinated by the work that Hank wanted to do, although his knowledge was oddly patchy in places. Sometimes, he seemed to know a lot, sometimes he would fall down in strange places. He would always laugh it off and shrug his shoulders.

“I’ve been out of touch for a while,” he said once and Hank found it oddly easy to accept. He found a lot of things oddly easy to accept about Charles. He was just so ... charming. Confident. He talked about letting Hank do some of his more volatile experiments in the house, commenting that there was nothing else going on around there. He was also quite eager for Hank to experiment with his freakish feet, encouraging him to run laps and climb the big old trees, then hang from the branches.

“You ought to know what you’re capable of,” he said. “We all ought to know that.”

He looked very sad then for no reason that Hank could understand. He wanted to ask but something stopped him. He didn’t want to make Charles sad. He liked to see Charles lively and happy.

It was a strange friendship, he supposed. But it was more than he’d had for a long time and it was fulfilling in a way that he couldn’t quite explain. All right, Charles was strange but who cared when he was so very ... Charles? Hank was _happy_. He was willing to ignore a lot of odd things to be happy.

And then suddenly, it all came tumbling down.

He was heading back to his flat rather late one evening after a late-night talk at the university. He was feeling tired and looking forward to sleeping – the greatest disadvantage of Charles was that odd aversion he had to meeting at any time that wasn’t evening – or at the mansion.

He was therefore very surprised to see Charles standing outside the door of his flat.

“C-charles?”

“Hello,” Charles said. He smiled and it was ... strange. It seemed to be showing decidedly too many teeth – but then, perhaps that was seeing Charles in the light of an electric light bulb. He looked slightly different somehow, although his clothes were the same as they always were. 

“What are you doing here?” Hank asked and then wondered if that sounded too rude. It was just confusing. He had invited Charles to his flat, of course, but Charles had never said yes. He’d told Charles he wouldn’t be coming to the mansion this evening because of the talk ... maybe Charles had decided he wanted to see him anyway ...? That was what friends did sometimes, right?

“I wanted to see you,” Charles said smoothly. “Can I come in?”

Hank fumbled for his keys, still feeling confused. Why was Charles here – and why wasn’t Hank pleased to see him? He ought to have been, it ought to have felt nice to be visited and yet he felt prickles on the back of his neck. Something wasn’t right here, it was ... all wrong in fact. But what was it? Was it really just a break in routine that was puzzling him so much?

“The talk was good,” he said, because the silence was worrying him. He unlocked the door glad to have it open.

“I’m so glad,” Charles said lightly. “You can tell me all about it when we’re inside. I’m looking forward to seeing where you live. Can I come in?”

He sounded like himself. He looked like himself.

But he didn’t smell right at all.

The knowledge hit him like a ton of bricks. Charles’s usual musty smell that Hank knew so well was gone. This Charles smelt clean and crisp and utterly wrong.

“Who _are_ you?”

The words came out before he could stop him, stupid, stupid words. Charles’s eyes went sharp, cold as glaciers. Frantic, Hank almost dived inside his flat. He fell over his own feet, rolled over, expecting this fake Charles to come in after him. 

But “Charles” did not. He stood at the open door, staring with those cold eyes.

“You’re not as stupid as I expected. But then, I guess I should have realised Charles wouldn’t want an idiot friend. Let me in, little friend and I’ll explain everything.”

“No,” Hank whispered. “Who are you? _What_ are you?”

“Charles” _rippled_. His face, his shape, his clothes, everything became different. A woman was standing there now, a beautiful woman with a cloud of golden hair.

“Don’t be scared,” she said softly. “My name is Raven. I’m Charles’s sister. I just wanted you to give him a message from me.”

“What message?” Hank asked, amazed that his voice sounded so normal. He had gone into shock, he supposed. Or perhaps it was because of the work he’d done researching his feet. Knowing, always knowing that there was something else out there, something strange and weird and different ...

He wasn’t sure that he liked it.

“Can’t I come in to talk about it?”

Hank opened his mouth – and then closed it.

The night-time meetings that never changed. Charles’s strange knowledge gaps, the way he spoke as though he was so old when he could only be a few years older than Hank. The strange, musty smell. Someone who asked over and over to be invited inside instead of just walking through the door.

Hank didn’t read much fiction. But he knew enough to recognise a vampire.

Raven apparently realised that it wasn’t going to happen. She laughed and her skin rippled again. The white and gold vanished, became blue and red and bright yellow eyes that glared at Hank – and bright, white sharp teeth.

“You really are a clever one,” Raven said. “Poor Charles. I wonder if he was thinking of changing you. I would have done it if I’d met you first. I think you’d be a lovely little playmate. Maybe I’d even do it now. I do hate it when Charles finds others. He’s supposed to be _mine_ and he _left_ me ... but no matter. I don’t think you could possibly understand. I don’t suppose you know what he wanted with you? No? Oh well. Watch out when you go out after dark, Hank McCoy. There are monsters out there.”

She shimmered and became a totally different woman, this time with long dark hair. If Hank hadn’t been sitting there watching her, he’d never have realised it was the same person. She blew him a kiss and then walked away down the hall, the heeled shoes that she hadn’t been wearing before clicking on the lino.

Hank slammed the door, locked and bolted it and then went to the bathroom to throw up.

*

He didn’t go back to the mansion.

He didn’t go out at night at all.

A part of him thought he had to have gone mad. Hallucinated it all. There couldn’t be vampires. There just couldn’t be. Charles was just an eccentric and Raven was ... Raven was ...

Well, there was where it all fell down, of course.

Besides, he _knew_ there were monsters. Hadn’t he always looked at his feet and thought they made him a monster? How could he be surprised now that he’d met others?

But _vampires_. The idea was terrifying and fascinating. What was it that changed them? Magic? Hank didn’t believe in that. A strange genetic mutation? If they had to be invited into houses and couldn’t come out in sunlight, what else was true? Crosses? Did he need to change his whole theological opinion of the universe?

He was scared. But he wanted to know _more_. 

He turned to the Internet for answers, just as he had before. It was just as confusing as it had been before. There were plenty of websites for people who wanted to talk about Dracula or Buffy or Twilight. There were plenty of websites about people who wanted to talk about the vampire myths out there. There were even websites about so-called “real” vampires but none of them seemed to be talking about what Hank had seen at all.

After hours of hunting, he found an old-style forum of people posting about their encounters with demons and vampires and monsters. Hank suspected they were just as mad as the others but he wanted to see if there was someone, anyone ...

He made sure the account was as untraceable as he could before making the post. He talked about it very simply, making sure not to include any identifying details – but also describing Charles and Raven as best as he could without using their names. 

The first few answers were really what he’d expected – people who seemed to believe him but had nothing terribly helpful to say, just sympathy. 

Then another reply appeared. The user name was IceandMetal.

_We believe you. In fact, we know you’re telling the truth. We believe that you’ve traced two vampires that we’ve wished to track for some time. Perhaps they told you their names? Will you contact us so we can compare notes?_

There was E-mail address beneath, an obvious burner, like Hank’s own. Hank stared at it for a long moment before logging in to his E-mail and replying. Perhaps it was desperation but he wanted to try this one. Just to see

The owners of the E-mail answered him almost immediately with just one line.

_Were their names Charles and Raven?_

Hank could have cried. They knew. Charles and Raven were real and someone else knew it was them.

_Yes_.

The answer was almost instantaneous again.

_We don’t have to meet. You’d be better staying well out of this. These vampires are vicious monsters who have murdered thousands. But what I want is the address of where you met Charles. That’s all. I won’t come looking for you. But this is very, very important_.

Hank stared at the E-mail for a long time. He suddenly felt very odd. Raven had been terrifying but Charles hadn’t been. Charles had been kind and friendly and fun. He had been interested in what Hank had to say. He had been encouraging ... or had that all been a lie? Had he just wanted to get Hank close? Manipulate him? Planning on killing him?

Ought he reply? He didn’t even know who he was replying to. “They” could be anybody. They could want to do anything.

But if Charles was a _murderer_ ...

But could he really just abandon all responsibility without even talking to Charles? Without even hearing his side of the story?

Hank had only wanted a quiet place to work.

He seemed to have gotten a lot more than that.


End file.
